


Sweat

by KateKintail



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Promptember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20534345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: A late night swordfight





	Sweat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 5 of Promptember 2019

As Methos’ broadsword struck Duncan’s katana, the clash reverberated through the otherwise empty dojo. It was well past midnight, and they’d been at this for almost an hour now. Stuck in another one of his moral quandaries, Duncan had been unable to sleep and too preoccupied to fuck, which really just left the one option. 

Not that Methos was complaining, of course. He could always use the practice and the chance to study Duncan’s excellent techniques. Plus there was the whole added bonus of eye candy. Duncan wore only his silk pajama pants, leaving his chest bare and on display. His long hair was down, sometimes brushing his shoulders as he moved. And his sweaty skin shone as it was caught in the minimal lighting in the dojo. 

As Methos pulled his sword back at arm’s length, ready to deliver a striking blow with suitable force and momentum, Duncan jumped back out of range and held his hand up. Slightly out of breath, he put his other hand on his thigh, hunching over. “That’s enough.”

Calmly, Methos nodded. Thank goodness. He hated to be the one to call off a fight, especially when the whole point was to wear Duncan down so he’d be tired enough to crash for the night. But they hadn’t fought to the end of a battle in more than a year. Not since Kalas. Not since shacking up. Neither of them really wanted to know who was better, especially since both men always held something back. Sometimes more than just a little something. But their passion for each other always added a new energy, a new dynamic to the fight. Methos had never married another immortal, but after this long with Duncan, he was starting to see the appeal of experiencing new sensations. 

“More than five thousand years,” Methos said, slightly breathless himself. “And you still show me new things.” 

Duncan smiled proudly, cleaning his blade tenderly with a bit of the fabric of his billowy pants. Clearly, he thought Methos meant fighting moves. But fighting was honestly the last thing on Methos’ mind. 

He rested his sword on his shoulder, the familiar weight such a comfort. It had been so good to step away from the game for a few centuries, but he only really felt like himself when his sword was in his hand. It made him feel safe. And, lately, it was the same feeling he got when he climbed into bed with Duncan. Sure, he still slept with his sword under his pillow; immortals who didn’t were complete idiots in his opinion. But he knew that if someone got close, it would be Duncan to first spring out of bed at the ready. 

Methos took a few steps forward and pressed two fingers to Duncan’s breastbone. He trailed them down Duncan’s sweaty chest and hooked them around his waistband. He heard the Highlander’s breath catch. “Ready for bed?” Methos asked. 

Duncan hesitated, looking so deep into Methos’ eyes, the older man could have sworn those deep brown eyes were looking straight into his soul. 

“Ready for something else?” Methos tried again.

This time, Duncan nodded automatically. His eyes fell closed and he swayed forward into a kiss. Their noses bumped. Their tongues battled. Their breaths mingled. Methos drew them back toward the elevator, step by shuffling step. But that was as far as they made it before dropping to the floor and making love in the space between where their swords lay.


End file.
